Author: Yummei of the Dream PM
He realizes how fun and delicious restoring his clan is, that he forgets that he does this to restore his clan. They both know she wants him to forget, and he finds himself not regretting it. She was always annoying that way. SasuSaku.Rated: Fiction T - English - Romance - Words: 1,636 - Reviews: 76 - Favs: 161 - Follows: 25 - Published: 10-26-05 - id: 2634602
|A+ A- Full 3/4 1/2 Expand Tighten|
Author's Note: Thirty-minute drabble. I join the realm of angst-writing SasuSaku authors. Wait, is this even angst? I dunno, I'm just joining some realm of -insert genre- writing SasuSaku authors. All I know is a lot of us SasuSaku fans write in this style. I'm not saying that non-SasuSaku fans don't write like this as well.
Whatever. I'm ranting. Heh.
By: Yummei-sama no Hayashi
Disclaimer: I don't own anything except my ideas. But even that I attribute to someone else.
She harped on him like a bumblebee, intent on her mission to pester him. She wanted to know him, understand him (even if he didn't want to be understood. But she didn't understand that part of him even if what she wanted was to understand) and,
he hated it.
She always smiled (what was there to smile about? Something about that smile just was not right. Like she was sharing some private joke with herself. How was he supposed to know the joke wasn't on him?), her green eyes (was it possible to have such shining green eyes? She was the only one he knew who had that shine in those emerald things) twinkling…
When she was happy, she cried.
When she was sad,
(Damn, crazy, crazy, woman.)
She was strange (or unique. He'll give her that. After all, Unique is just a pretty word for weird) and she was dirt to him, or even bigger.
(His inner self told him gems are made of polished, compacted dirt.
She burst into tears the first time he told her he loved her.
(Why he had said that, he has no idea – he was plain crazy. Maybe her ditziness was contagious. Or maybe it was true. That was what seemed the right thing to do at the time. It was true, but he still wishes it wasn't. Maybe he'll get those butterflies out of his stomach if it wasn't, because that feeling was annoying.
She was annoying. Damn, crazy, crazy, delusional-)
She laughed out loud when he told her she was stupid for crying.
(That was it. She was absolutely weird. Was it really down in the unwritten rules of heaven for women to confuse men? Bu then again, he knew he confused her, but was payback really good in this shallow situation?
Or maybe it isn't shallow. Not that shallow. No. He was absolutely drowning-)
She smiled, radiant as the sun,
(he sometimes wondered whether he would go blind if he stared at her for more than thirty minutes, but his inherited eyes were doing that for him)
piercing the darkness (damn that man. If his darkness just didn't exist, he would have a tad easier time to deal with her brightness) inside him.
She interfered with his world of proper black and white (which in his opinion were the only colors that really mattered – but did colors really matter? His inner consciousness asked. Besides black and white aren't really colors, as the laws of physics would say-
and made it into one colorful, messy blob. (He hated it. It was painful to the eyes. It was too bright. Perhaps pastels were good, but not neon. Despite her love for pastel colors, she managed to make his life look like thousands of neon lights.)
She was insane sanity embodied.
(He couldn't understand his own logic sometimes – how could normalcy be insanity? Stupid, stupid. But then it doesn't sound so stupid when it's her he talks about. She was never normal, so being normal was weird for her – argh.)
She made him avert his eyes from his goal of revenge (that was a few years ago. He was dead. Six feet under, as he likes to remind himself when he has those nightmares of bloody corpses and the spinning black commas against red background flinging him into a world of red skies and black moons-
and of restoring his clan.
(Although she helps. She helps in the goal, but he forgets the goal once she is under him, panting, sweating, blushing,
It was always easy to forget that goal when he realizes how fun and delicious and heavenly and absolutely wonderful restoring his clan is that he forgets that he does this to restore his clan. But then, she was annoying in that way. They both know she wants him to forget, and he finds himself not regretting forgetting.)
She cried out to him, many, many times,
all the time,
that she loved him. (She somehow never gets tired of saying that. She says that in many ways, always, always, making it ring in his ears when he does what he has to do for a living, and when he restores his clan-
In many, many ways.
And no matter what he told her (sometimes he regrets it that he tells her to stop hugging him, to stop latching onto him, but she manages to bounce back anyway, after all, they share a bed, among other things),
no matter what he told others (he repeats it, over and over again, that it's to restore his clan, but the more he repeats it that more they seem not to believe him… the loud, blond leader of the village knows him too well),
no matter what he tells the divine audience with that sick sense of humor (they always seem to hand to him the worst of fates, like having his brother kill his entire clan, or giving to him as a best friend that loud, loud blond fox, or giving to him as a wife that loud, loud, pink-haired woman…
all right, maybe they weren't so unkind-)
Whatever he told himself (he always says to himself how annoying she really was. Always caring loving smiling laughing, but that's why he married her), it didn't matter…
he loved her too.
He lusted after her too.
(It isn't hard to lust after her. She is beautiful, more beautiful than any woman he has ever known in his entire life, except perhaps his mother, but he doesn't lust after his dead mother, hell no, and she is lovely especially when she pouts or smiles or sticks out her tongue as she licks off ice cream from her cone,
or on his futon, writhing under him-
And whenever he left, whenever he killed (he needs to, not for the bloodlust he lost a long time ago but for the money to sustain him and her and his pride as a shinobi, a job he was born to do),
he thought about her.
Whenever he tasted his own blood (injuring himself is unavoidable especially nowadays when she isn't on the team as a medic, and he misses her presence, but her absence is necessary),
he thought of the blood he has in her.
Her blood, his blood, mingling to create.
(Would you call it progeny? She always says she wants it to look just like him, but he isn't so sure… but if she saw something good-looking in his face then why not-)
She was annoying, and he loved it.
(Always nagging, worrying, shouting, arguing… that is what she is and she will never change. He has learnt to accept that long ago-)
When he let rain wash down on him, he reminded himself,
she cleanses him.
(There really is something that is so pure in her, that innocence, that not even the shedding of blood could take away, after all, she also saves lives with those beautiful gentle hands, gently, gently…
And that innocence somehow reflects on him and burns the guilt and the bloodstains on his hands. He cannot hold her with bloodstained hands.)
Accepting, loyal, waiting (sometimes he fears that she will not be there when he comes back from what he does, but she always is, exclaiming his name that sounds so good on her tongue, and he knows she'll never leave him come hell or high waters, as long as he shows that he needs her-)
loving, pure, innocent (even after their attempts at procreation, which often turns into a heated battle in the futon, it never fails to release all that tension that builds up between them when he kisses her harder than usual-)
just so her, she will never change.
He hoped (secretly, because he always shows how annoyed he is with her, but she doesn't seem to care much, since she understands that part of him, if anything) that she will never, ever change.
Right little ray of sunshine, breaking cold, dark glass (it was fascinating how she manages to break his cold glassy exterior, the one he always puts on when he leaves her, the one she breaks when he comes back, without cutting herself) into pieces.
Because (he has to admit it sometimes. He could never go so long without admitting it to her. Because he fears only one thing these days: that she will leave him because he doesn't show much love. But he knows she understands why he cannot say it so often and loves him all the more for it.
Like he says, she's strange.)
he loved – no, loves – her.
she was a drug. Morphine. Addicting, numbing pain.
(But never bad for him, although he likes to say so when he teases her with that smirk of his. That was the difference.)
She was his obsession. Crazy addiction.
:.: The cracked glass – omen. Uh-oh, I think you killed it.:.: